The Wistful Ashes

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2026-08-18 05:13:00 -

The Wistful Ashes

The air in the Hall of Records did not smell of dust, as one might expect for a place so old, but of wet iron and dried blood, a scent that clung to the back of the throat like a bad taste. Elias Thorne stood before the Obsidian Desk, his hands trembling not from cold, though the stone floor seeped a chill that bit through his wool trousers, but from the sheer, crushing weight of the silence....

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